Billygean.co.uk

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Still not as embarrassing as The Waste Land or The Urinary Sample. Both names work for both, actually.

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I stand stock-still in the supermarket.

"Are those real?" I say to my Dad, gesturing to the STUPIDLY FAKE carcasses in the STUPIDLY FAKE butchers.

My Dad smirks. But I do not see this. "Yep," he says.

"Wow."

I stare a bit more. The butcher catches my eye. He stares for a while. I eye him back.

It's been way too long now to look away.

"Don't worry love, these aren't real," he says, bashing one of the carcasses with his knife. It sounds reasonably plastic. It swings as he bashes it again.

"You fuck," I hiss at my Dad.

I smile at the butcher politely. I then cease eye contact.

But it's too late. Dad has walked over. I reluctantly follow.

Butcher hands me the carcass. It is definitely plastic. And also much smaller than a cow.

"Thanks for this," I say. Very red.

"Did you really think they were real?" Butcher says.

No. Obviously I just felt like embarrassing myself because I don't do it OFTEN ENOUGH.

"I bet loads of people think they're real, don't they," my Dad says.

"Most of them aren't 22," I say, instantly regretting it.

Butcher stares at me. "I thought you were about 14," he says.

I huff.

Dad folds his arms.

I huff again and pick up some mince. Butcher wraps it for me.

"Don't worry," he says. "This is real."

Labels: blonde moments, Dad, embarrassing, Home

by billygean.co.uk at 2:30 AM |